Burial Of
My Mother in 1869, And Of The Body Of Our LORD JESUS, 33 A.D.
(G.W.S.Ware, 1936.)
-----------------
In Shiloh Baptist Church house, Walker County Georgia, 2nd. Sunday if May, 1919, I
preached my Mother’s funeral sermon, just 50 years, after her body was buried. Not a
scripture, song or prayer was heard. I was 15, and 65, when I preached her burial sermon.
Ten years before she died, I had fallen LOVE with Jesus Christ, by hearing her read about
Him. May no one think, that it was strange, that I should travel a thousand miles to
preach her delayed funeral sermon. Her husband, my Father, had done this so often for
others, and I, her son, had been doing the same for others, 32 years; why then for the
sake of her Saviour, whom she had served so long; and for her sake, who had given me birth
and led me into the Kingdom of God; and as I had been holding burial service for others
for many years, why travel a 1000 miles to honor her memory.
Till that day, I had been far away. I borrowed a chair, and sat by her grave, wrote and
fasted through dinner time; not in ancestral worship, but in gratitude to God, for such a
mother.
She had wept over the graves of two infant children and over the dead body of her
soldier son, 27 years of age. Another son, killed in battle, at Jonesboro Georgia, the
news of whose death, came to her, after the Civil War, had closed. She left five living
children, now two are living, and I, the youngest, am 82. I am her only child ever to
visit her grave, and my daughter, Ruby, her only grandchild, to her her honor. If any of
you, my descendants, ever pass through Armuche valley, stand by her well marked grave, and
thank God, that she is up your line of ancestors.
THE BURIAL OF THE BODY, OF THE LORD
JESUS CHRIST.
------------------------------------------------
Now, in love and worship, of mind and heart; I am going down, 1903 years, and hold
burial service, over the dead body of the Son of God. If it was, or ever have been done, I
am not aware of it. I am not worthy, to stand there in mind, and do the service. No man
is, Angels, are not. It seems to me now, that He is willing for me to do this for His dead
body, as it entered that short period of time, in the realm of death.
I am in a garden, by a new tomb hewn into a solid rock, which Joseph had made for
himself, at great cost.
Yonder they come, Joseph and Nicodemus, with hired, or voluntary helpers, bearing the
body of Jesus. Here, they lay it on the ground. The coffin, is the linin cloth, the gift
of Joseph. They stand aside, and I read the first two verses of the 90th. Psalm. (you read
them.) I motion my hand and they uncover the face of Jesus. Its the face of a young man,
drained of blood, pallid in death. THAT FACE, in life, the indx of His Mind and Spirit;
before which, all human logic would quail; draw the penitent sinner, and give hope, to
those in despair. I motion again, and His young hands are shown, Hands so young, now so
dead. Those fingers in life, before whose touch, disease and death, would flee away. Those
hands through which the spikes had pulled on His life, for six hours.
His feet are uncovered. The feet he stood on, in the Temple, to amaze the doctors of
law, that a boy could be so full of wisdom. The feet, He used to walk 60 miles, to take on
baptism, which John got from heaven. Feet that walked so much, and rode so little. Feet,
used to go about doing good. Through his feet, are the holes of the nailes, which held
them to the cross, that pulled on the life of the Son of God, for six hours.
On the left side, the linin is parted, and the large gash of the [end of page-no
more text]
